Legacy - IC Book V
by Deaother
Summary: When his family is threatened by unknown forces, Eragon must return to Alagaesia to protect the ones he loves, but in the process he begins a chain of events that he must strive to survive. Forced to work with two unlikely allies, he must burn the seeds of war before they can destroy the hard earned peace.
1. Prologue

Prologue: The Top of the Void

"Almost all believe that once death takes us, there is no way to return. They believe that once the Gates of the Void are shut, they are never to be opened for them again."

A landscape with slowly receding mist was overlooked by a cliff as high as the clouds themselves, its green grass flattened in the strong winds as sunlight glistened off the silver clouds swiftly moving past. The cliff lay just below the peak of an immense, extremely tall mountain, which despite its height did not bear any snow. The greenery of the cliff was a stark contrast to the grey stone that formed the mountain.

"But I stand here to tell you, there is a way. A way to return to the land of the living."

As the clouds rolled by a path was revealed, heading up to the cliff from what could only be the base of the mountain. An extremely perilous journey that not many had undertaken it as the pain of the climb was far too great a cost. The danger of death did not seem to bother anyone though.

"This discovery came at a great cost, but it does exist, which is why I have brought you here."

As the fog gave way, four men were revealed, standing near the edge and facing each other. They all wore dark robes of different shades, and they all stood tall. The man who spoke stood the closest to the edge, he was dark skinned, extremely well built, tall and powerful. But he was also dead, and now he stood in the Void, where all others like him dwelled, repenting their crimes, or reaping the joys of their lives as they watched their loved ones live their own.

The other three were fairer and their gaze followed the man's as he watched the clouds pass and smiled. "The Top of the Void, indeed." He muttered to himself. He was named Karzul, once a feared marauder and bandit, even an adventurer but now he was just another inhabitant of the void.

Karzul his hands in his pockets as he reached the edge of the cliff and looked down, giving out a low whistle, while two of the others shared uneasy looks. It was a long way down, and if he weren't already dead, he would have been a bit unnerved. But he stood fearless, for a dead person could not die twice . . . or so he believed.

But he turned then and smiled, holding out his hands, when one of the three began to speak. "Karzul, we are here as you asked. Now what is it that you wish to discuss? And here-?"

"Welcome, all of you, to what I believe to be the Top of the Void." The man, Karzul, spoke and nodded at them as they stood in front of him. The one in the center stood taller than them all, and was extremely broad shouldered. A hulk of man, and he stared at Karzul with dark eyes, who said. "I am glad that you all made it." He walked closer to them, as they did the same.

"Tell us why you wanted to meet us here." Another one of them asked.

"In time, Faulder, in time. For you to understand, I must explain from the very beginning, but let me ask you first . . . are all three of you just as itchy to get out of the Void as I am?" Karzul asked them.

They all agreed, although unwillingly, but Karzul just stared at each of them, then said. "Well then, I have a way out . . ."

"Please continue." The third man said.

"No . . . I do not think it is time for any of us to leave . . . there are no wars, there is peace in that land." The tallest among them, the one in the center, a man only known as the mad king, spoke the words.

Karzul raised his eyebrows, "Haven't you softened up in here . . . but I suppose so many years can do that, can it not?"

"Your opinion matters not, Karzul, I shall leave when I feel I am ready . . . and I suggest that you wait as well." The mad king said, then turned and strode away. "This is not natural, it is against the laws of the living and the dead."

"Enough with the speech, we all know you have your own way out, do you not?" Karzul shouted as the king began down the path. "All you need is one touch."

The mad king stopped then, and turned, his face sinister. "If you do return, and if you try to ruin Alagaesia, my home, I shall follow and make sure that you are killed."

"You have definitely softened up, why else would you put me back from where I could easily escape, again?" Karzul asked, smirking. "Now be gone with you . . ."

He turned to the other two as the king walked back down the path. "We do not need him, the three of us are enough . . ."

"So, how do you know all this?" Faulder asked. "How did you find the gate?"

"Well . . . it all begins nearly fifty years ago." Karzul said. "Fifty years ago, I found a gate, or rather a bridge which connected the Void to the land of the living." He waited for the new information to sink in. Their response was immediate.

"I have never heard of any such gate." The second man, Woldan, said. Faulder crossed his arms and stared at Karzul with sharp eyes.

"I am not surprised; it is in a very remote corner of Alagaesia . . . accessible only by tunnel or air." He nodded at them. "I found this gate, but I was . . . stopped. And I ended up here by the other, common route."

"You were killed." Faulder said with a smirk.

"Yes," Karzul walked closer to them. "The Void has its advantages, of course. You both know, it is said you must keep your friends close," He stopped and raised his hand. When he did, a large bubble blazed into existence on his palm. In it, there stood a man, a very old one, in a red cloak. It was the way the dwellers of the Void watched their loved ones, or in this case, the ones they wanted to see. "And you must keep your enemies closer." He raised his palm again, and another bubble appeared. In it, a hooded man was disembarking a small boat and trotting on the shores of what seemed like an island.

Karzul pointed at the first bubble. "He is my ally, who was there when I was killed." He then pointed at the second bubble. "This is the man who killed me. Now, this is how I know what is going to happen. I have watched this man for a long time."

"Do share, we have nothing but time." Woldan told him.

"Just before I was killed I managed to open the gate by a small slit, a crack. But something that I had not anticipated took place, there was a blast of some form of energy, and it affected everyone in the room . . . It wiped out my killer's memory completely, or so I believe." Karzul said.

"After fifty years of searching, he has finally begun a quest of sorts to regain his life. It seems he also gained immortality in that blast along with some unusual powers. But now, he searches for all the answers , and his journey will lead him to . . ." Karzul brought the image of his ally closer as well. "To my ally, who is not powerful enough to withstand him so he will do what I did so long ago, he will open the gate for us in the hopes that we will save him."

"How do you know this?" Faulder asked him.

"We were all friends once . . . when he does open the gate, we will be there, and we will return to the land of the living." Karzul told them, and smiled, clapping his hands together in conclusion.

"Wait, so we will return as ourselves, flesh and bone?" Woldan said, coming closer.

"And where is this gate? In the Void I mean." Faulder added.

"Well, Woldan, we will not return as flesh and bone, we will return as spirits. We will have to take over some living person's body. In my opinion, my killer is best suited because he is extremely powerful, and together we can make him all more dangerous." Karzul answered.

"So we will be turning him into a Shade." Woldan surmised.

"Yes . . . And Faulder, the gate is there." Karzul pointed at the mountainside right behind them.

Faulder and Woldan both turned and stared at the flat stone, then turned back to him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, for I looked through the crack before I . . . died, and this cliff is exactly what I saw." Karzul told them. "Worry not, I am certain that this will work and when it does, I have a much bigger, in which we all have our own roles to play."

"And what is that?" Woldan said.

"In time, my friend, but it is something that both of you will enjoy . . . a lot." Karzul smiled. "Now, let us watch as the events unfold."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Ruins of Doru Araeba

A maddening obsession, that's what life had become for a man as he struggled on against the wilderness of the hills of Vroengard, coming closer and closer to the ruins of the old, once great city of the Dragon Riders. He had spent almost eight hours on the island, and had nearly got lost in the forests twice. But now it was night time, he was on the right track, and as soon as the moss covered wreckage of the buildings came into view, he smiled to himself for the first time in days, relieved that he had finally finished the first step of a long journey that he had had undertaken.

He freed himself from the tangles of the trees and the bushes, and walked ahead, slowly. He was at the southwest part of the city, where the buildings were not as large as the ones near the lake, to the left, visible with its clear, stark reflection of the moonlight. The man kept moving, adjusting the scepter which was on his back, as he entered the city through a wide hole in its walls, which were also crumbling away, covered with moss. Once inside, he stopped and took in his surroundings. He was on a road, or what he felt was a road as there were ruined structures of buildings on either sides and a path went on ahead, and then turned right.

The buildings were a lot smaller than he had expected, but he guessed that these were the guest homes, or where the new Riders slept, or perhaps barracks for the guards who had helped the Riders protect the city. He shook his head then, and continued to walk ahead, with longer strides as he realized there was nothing to be done there. He was wrong.

A twig snapped, wind rushed, footsteps soft on the ground echoed in the alleys as the man stopped again, the tip of his hood swaying in the breeze. He sniffed, but kept listening as the low, rhythmic beating of wings above, an arrow being knocked in a bow, and a sword being drawn from its sheath were the sounds that reached his extremely keen ears. He stood silent until-

"Stop!" A monk barked, and the hooded man looked up to see him standing in front of him with a sword pointed at him. This monk wore light leather armor over his robes, and had a scar across his face. The man began to reach for his scepter, but the monk stiffened and yelled, "Don't even think of it! There are three men with their bows pointed at you as we speak."

The man stopped then, and looked around once more. There were two archers right behind him, and a third on the roof of a single floored crumbled structure to the right. All of them wore dark blue robes, but no armor.

"Who are you? What do you want from us? You have been on our island for almost half a day." The monk told him.

"I am a man on a quest, and I seek answers from your master." He replied, staring at the monk. "And I see you have been watching me, why show yourself now?"

At that precise moment, two dark figures flew out of the dark above and landed on either sides of the monk, and the man raised his eyebrows at them. "Sundavrblaka? So that's how you keep an eye on intruders?" He had not seen them before, but he knew what they were, having read and researched extensively before arriving at the island.

The creatures chattered at each other, their yellow beaks moving swiftly as their white, slit like eyes kept staring at him. He wasn't surprised he had not noticed them, if not for their eyes, they were impossible to detect in the darkness. The man just stared at them for a while, then turned to the monk. "I must meet your master, I know of your agendas, and your master is the only one who can answer my questions."

The monk raised his sword once more. "It cannot happen, we only share with our own." The monk replied. "Now, leave this place lest we kill you first."

The man was silent, then looked at the two archers behind him. He was aware of the third on the rooftop, he knew what he had to do next, and he flexed his fingers, preparing to do what was necessary. "You stand in the way of Paradise." He said in a low voice, and staring down as he flexed his fingers again. "And Paradise shall come, but you." He looked up, boring his eyes into the eyes of the monk. "You shall not be a part of it." He swerved around then, and raised both his hands, palms pointed at both the archers.

In a loud burst of wind, both of them caught fire and were blasted of their feet, as the man drew his scepter and knocked a shadow-flapper aside, then engaged the second one. An arrow missed him and embedded in the walls of the ruin next to them, as he knocked the wraith's arm aside, and before it could react, he ran his scepter right through its chest and held the shaft up, letting its body sink down and horrid, green blood trailed down the weapon. And just in time, as another arrow embedded in the body which had shielded him.

The man pulled his scepter down in a powerful thrust, and the body of the wraith smashed against the monk, who was charging at him with a sword drawn. The monk fell to the ground as the hooded man ran forward, and jumped as he threw the scepter at the third archer. It ran through his neck, and he choked for a heartbeat, before falling off the roof.

The hooded man then turned as the monk attacked him, green blood coating his leather armor, and slashed at the man. He dodged to the left, and ducked as the monk swerved around, then as he again tried to hack at the man's head, he grabbed the monk's wrist to stop him in mid swing. Then, he grabbed the sword's pommel with his other hand, and the monk screamed as the sword's handle heated up. He dropped the sword, and the man punched his face, making him fall to the ground.

But the remaining shadow flapper flew at him, and before the man could stop it, the wraith grabbed him by the collar and took him along for the flight. In the next moment, it smashed him against the walls of the very building where the archer had been. The man kneed it in the gut, but the wraith smashed its fist, which had six fingers, against the man's face, holding him against the wall with its other hand. The man gasped, as he was punched again, then raised his hand and grabbed the fist as it came for him again. But the sundavrblaka grabbed his waist with his legs, pressing it against the wall, as it punched him with its other hand as well.

The man grabbed its other hand with his own, and smashed his forehead onto the wraiths, and while it shrieked, he let go off its hand, reached back and drew a dagger, then sliced open its chest. It squealed and screamed, but the man reached forward, as if to embrace it, and jabbed the dagger into its neck. The shadow flapper did not shriek any longer, and they both fell to the ground, ten feet below with a loud _thump_. The man rolled to the side then, and got to his feet, sheathing the dagger. He retrieved his scepter, and turned to the monk, who stood ready for him. The monk charged, sword ready and jabbed at him, but the man knocked his blow aside with the scepter, and twirling around, he smashed the blunt end into his opponent's face. The monk growled and slashed, the man blocked, he thrust, but the man parried the blow, then ducked and swung around with the scepter held at its full length. He knocked the man monk's feet off the ground, and he dropped his sword as he yelled in surprise and fell.

The man then embedded his scepter into the ground, and grabbed the man by the neck, and also held his right hand. "Now I shall ask, and you shall answer, where is your master?"

"I shall never . . . Aah!" He screamed as his right hand was given a horrible burn.

"Your eyes will be next." The man said, and placed two fingers above his eyes, which he stared at with utmost horror.

"Alright, alright, fine, I'll tell you!" He yelled. "To the northeast of the city, a tower which we rebuilt, the only one with lights on." He said, and snatched his hand away as the man stood up. He turned northeast, and smiled slightly.

"Will you let me go?" The monk asked.

The man laughed then, and pointed his palm at the monk. "No, please, no!" He screamed, but the man just sneered as a blast of bright light lit the surroundings.

* BRENDON *

The waves were extremely turbulent, and a lonely voyager stood on a small ship which he commandeered alone, a bright red cloak on his shoulders. A sail pulled the ship forward with the wind, heading for the island of Vroengard. The man on board stared at the extremely close island, and breathed a sigh. "Doru Araeba, it has been too long since my eyes last greeted your sight."

He remembered his past in the land of the dragon Riders, and looked at his own palm, which he usually kept clenched out of habit. There, right in the center, was the silver Gedwëy Ignasia. He curled his fingers and turned away, as dark and painful memories began to rush to him.

His red cloaked fluttered behind him as he turned then and reached into a chest, pulling out an extremely thick, old and tattered book. It was another habit of his, a paranoia which forced him to check on it almost every few hours. The book, which he had been forced to bind with magic to keep it from falling apart was the last source of information and evidence that he had, where he had brought all his findings, listed all the possibilities, drawn all the maps. Now, he had the final result hidden away in one of the pages of the book, and he hoped to go through with an idea which had become an obsession that now ruled his life.

He turned the sail, aiming left as he headed for the northeastern part of the island. It was the fastest way to the coast, and to the city. As the minutes wore on, and he drew closer and closer to the city, an air of extreme disdain clouded his mind as he slowly began to realize that something was wrong. There were no dragons on the island. Had there been any dragons, they would have flown out to greet him or at least find out who he was, by now. And the closer he came to the island, the more evident was its desolation. The old lighthouse, which used to house the largest and brightest fire in Alagaesia, now lay in ruins, and he was glad he had been able to make his way to the island on pure memory.

As his small ship sailed closer to the island, he saw bones in the moonlight, massive bones, and noticed the largest of them all. "Belgabad!" he exclaimed in extreme surprise and trepidation, and closed his eyes. "No!" He yelled. But it was true, and he could not deny it. Something terrible had happened to Alagaesia, and he had been too far to be a part of it.

_This means that Sofya is-is dead? No! And Arengur, Tremur, all of them? _He slowly sank to his knees as more of the island came in sight, the port coming ever closer to the ship. This was not right, this was not what he expected to return to. His old life had been reduced to just memories, as the anchor which had held him in place had all but vanished.

He felt lost, helpless, what he had just witnessed was too much for him. No matter what he did, he could not wrap his mind around the fact that his old companions were all dead, and that he might just be the last dragon Rider in the whole world.

_No! Some might have survived, some might still be alive. _He told himself, but buried his face in his palms, his cloak wrapped around him. _I can't believe this. _

The ship was at the port of Vroengard, and he stood up then, mustering his courage. He had to find out what had happened, he needed answers. Surely there was someone on the island who could help him. But as far as he looked, he saw no living creature in sight. He sighed, then leapt off the stern of the boat and landed on the wooden platform. The wood swayed under him, and he turned to the path that would lead him to the city.

* TENGA *

"I am here to see your master." The hooded man said as soon as the door to the tower had opened. Within was a corridor with doors on either side. A young man wearing dark blue robes had opened the door, and stared at him with a little surprise. "I assure you, he is expecting me."

He stared at him for a moment, then relented, letting him in. "This way." They walked down a corridor lined with doors to different rooms on either sides, and turned right at its end, heading up a spiral of stairs. From what he had seen so far, there could be around twenty or so men in that outpost. He smiled, this could be easy enough.

He followed the young apprentice up the stairs to the very top, where the apprentice knocked the door thrice, and entered. "Master?"

"What is it?" A voice said from inside.

"There is a man here to see you." The apprentice said, but the hooded man just walked past him.

"Thank you, you may go now." He said, and slowly pushed the apprentice out, closing the door.

He was in a circular room, the highest room in the whole tower. In its center was a table, and to the sides were shelves and shelves of books with few windows in between, but that was all there was to it, other than the Master himself, who eyed the intruder with a raised eyebrow. He sat behind his table, reading a voluminous book. "Who are you?"

"You have been expecting me." The intruder said, smiling as he walked closer to the table.

"No, I have not. I do not expect anyone, now, what is it that you want?" The Master asked, looking up at him. A pair of old eyes stared at the intruder, wrinkles of a dying man.

"I seek answers." The intruder replied.

"Do you not know? We share with none but our own." The Master said.

"Have your scouts reported me as an enemy?" The man asked.

"No, they've reported nothing about you." The Master answered.

"Well, I made it till here without detection. I think I deserve some credit, would you not agree?" The intruder sneered.

The Master stopped what he was doing and stared at the intruder, bringing his fingertips close to each other to form a dome as he gazed into the intruder's eyes. After a long moment of pause, "Very well, I can make an exception this once. What are your questions?"

"I am looking for the Gateway, I need to know its location and how I can get to it." The man answered.

"What Gateway? There are thousands of gateways, I shall need more details." The Master said, getting to his feet.

"The Gateway that leads to the Void." The intruder answered, and stood straight, looking right at the Master.

"And what makes you think I will reveal its location to you?" The Master said.

"I am in charge on protecting it now, since my brother died last week. I received the message just a few days ago." The intruder lied.

Again there was silence as the two men surveyed each other, but then. "It won't be easy to get there, for you cannot fly. It is a tunnel between Dalgon and Galfni that will lead you there, but the dwarves will not let you through unless one of their own accompanies you."

"There are many tunnels, and now I shall need a-" He was cut off when the door was thrown open suddenly. Three monks entered, swords drawn, and stood ready to charge when they saw the intruder.

"Master, get away from him, he killed Orfthang and his entire unit!" One of them shouted.

_The fun begins. _The intruder thought, and swerved around, drawing his scepter.

The Master drew his sword and charged at him, but the intruder deflected his blow, and stabbed the old man's knee. The Master screamed with pain, but the intruder pulled the scepter out, grabbed him by the chest and threw him onto the table. Then, he turned and parried a blow from one of the monks, and knocked him back. Pulling his scepter back, he pointed his palm at all of them.

They all screamed as they were thrown back. They smashed against the bookshelves, and fell to the floor, and with a flick of his hand, the intruder set them all on fire.

"Now, answer me, which tunnel?" He said, turning to the Master. He looked down then, saw a book had fallen out of the old man's pockets, who was clearly in shock. He picked up the book and placed it in his pocket, then grabbed the Master by his neck. "Answer me!"

"I-I-I . . . I do not-" The Master stammered.

"You think I play games? Answer me!" He shouted. The old man just stammered.

The door was thrown open by seven more monks who entered, three with their bows drawn. The intruder turned to the old man, "Watch this, it's what happens when I am furious." He dropped the old man to the table, and faced the seven men. "If any of you survive this, then the Gods must love you!" The intruder yelled, and pulled his arms close to him as the men charged at him.

Then, he screamed loud, extremely loud as he forced his power, and energy forward.

* BRENDON *

The Rider stood near the lake, staring at it in despair as he beheld the ruins of his home. He sank to his knees slowly, staring at the Grand Hall. _I am sorry, Holduin. You were right, we should never have left. If only I could-_

There was an explosion to the side, making him jump. To the northeast, half of the top of a tower had been blasted apart, and what remained had caught fire. The Rider gasped, itching his neck, something he had been doing for quite some time now. _I am not alone here, but what in the name of Palancar, was that?_ He sprinted towards the tower, his cloak billowing.

* TENGA *

The intruder laughed as not even the corpse of any of those monks remained. He held his arms out with pure joy for a moment, then slowly turned to the Master, who was staring at him, terrified. The intruder walked up to him, grabbed him by the neck, lifted him with a single hand and smashed him back onto the table, breaking it completely. The old man fell to the ground, crying out in pain.

"Which tunnel? How do I find it?" The intruder asked him. "I can reduce you to ashes, and not give a speck of dirt on my boot about it."

"I . . . d-do not . . . know." The old man answered.

"Well then, I suppose I shall have to find another way." He began to look around when he saw something interesting. "Oh, what is this?" The man noticed that a map had fallen out of a drawer of the now broken table. He grabbed it, and sneered as he unfurled it. "A map, and it has locations of what? All the sites of wild magic? Secret cults and their headquarters?"

"No . . . no, y-y-you do no-"

"Silence." The intruder shouted, and looked at the Beor mountains in the map. "So . . . you have also marked the Gateway, or is it called Grind Eom Du Andlat? Pretty long . . . well, I have what I came for, as the Arcaena Order promised." He said. The old man was not even listening, he just lay on his back, eyes closed.

"I shall not kill you, for you are almost at Death's door." The intruder said, then walked away.

* BRENDON *

The Rider hurried up the path to the tower, only to find half a dozen men and women running towards him. "Are you alright? Is there anyone else there?" He shouted at them.

All of them wore blue robes, and they noticed him only when they heard him. As soon as they did, they had drawn their weapons, and one of them yelled, "Look his face, and his arm! Lesions! He is an outsider, just like the other one, kill him!"

"What? No! I am here to help!" The Rider replied as they charged at him. But, his senses and reflexes jumped into action as he drew his sword, _Arget Datia, _and prepared for the fight. If they were not going to take his help, and were going to fight him instead, he was not going to disappoint them.

"You think you can come to our home, destroy it and get away?" One of them said, pointing a claymore at the Rider.

"Look, I do not know what happened, and I just came to help. This is all a coincidence!" The Rider shouted at them.

"Kill him, before the other one kills us!" A woman said.

"The other one?" The Rider asked.

But before he got an answer, three of them were set on fire abruptly, all of a sudden, two more were blasted off the ground and landed nearly ten feet away. And last one was dead when the Rider turned to him, with a scepter sticking out of his chest. "What?" He turned around, sword ready.

"Put that down. They were going to kill you, I just saved your life."

The Rider turned and saw the 'other one', a hooded stranger walking towards him. "No, you saved three of them from a very, very painful death." The Rider answered. "Who are you?"

"I shall answer once you put your blade back where it belongs." The man answered. As the Rider sheathed his sword, then raised his hand to scratch his neck again, the man grabbed it, staring at the palm. "A Gedwëy Ignasia?" The man raised an eyebrow. "I suppose Galbatorix missed you somehow."

"What do you mean? What did Galbatorix do?" The Rider asked immediately.

"First things first, there is a poison in the air here, which is why you are getting those lesions. I have a spell to protect you from its, its wordings are thus." The Rider copied the man word to word, and nodded when he was done.

"My thanks." The Rider said, then held out a hand. "I am Brendon Kinsaver, Rider of Halduin."

"Tenga, that's my name." The hooded man said, shaking his hand. "Do you have a boat or a ship?"

"Yes, a small ship." Brendon replied.

"Well then, I shall tell you what happened here on the way to the mainland." Tenga said, but Brendon did not seem convinced. It was obvious he wished to stay longer. "There is nothing here, Brendon, only ruins and questions." Tenga told him.

Brendon took a look around, then eyed Tenga suspiciously for a moment before saying. "Very well, my ship's a little away."

"Well then, on the way, do tell me where you have been for the last hundred or so years." Tenga said, as they both strode down the path.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter2: Underground King of Hedarth

The water of the Az Ragni and Edda River joined forces and marched east, their combined waters overlooked by the bustling town of Hedarth. Originally a small trading outpost for the dwarves, the town had grown in size and popularity as the trade between the dwarves and the elves had increased, along with the addition of humans to the chain via both the races. And since the death of Galbatorix, the people of Hedarth had no more fear of dragons swooping down, and now they let their trades flourish without any inhibitions.

The town was filled with a throng of activity, and humans and dwarves alike lived and worked together. Boats and ships filled with goods arrived and were sent across the town to go up both the rivers; ships docked at the port and left the port almost every hour. It was a town in its prosperity.

But that was what the rest of Alagaesia saw Hedarth as. Only true inhabitants of Hedarth knew its dark secret, the great horde of activities, tolerated and non-tolerated by the Broddring Kingdom. To its inhabitants, Hedarth was a prison, as it had been for nearly six years. Only they knew the intricate network that surrounded them, an intricate network of crime. And that's exactly what Hedarth was, the center of crime of Alagaesia, mostly contributed by the humans and dwarves.

And in this city, lived the fabled 'King' of crime, or the Underground King. This king was a dwarf, who owned nearly all activities which were considered intolerable by Nasuada. And under him was a band of criminals, who had all come to Hedarth to seek refuge. Thus, Hedarth was the haven of the thief.

In a town as busy as this one, not many noticed a group of white stallions approaching from the north, their hooded, elven riders coming to a halt near the guard posts. The dwarven and human guards within just stared as one of the elves disembarked and walked into the city, and the rest followed several minutes later.

The elf strode down the wooden platforms which extended and supported the city over the river, and entered a pub that was just off the wooden planks laid to create more supports. He walked in, to see many sailors and traders sitting on the various tables of the brightly lit room. The keeper stood behind the bar, and stared at the hooded elf as he surveyed the room. His gaze fixated on a group of dwarves sitting in a far corner, with several more sitting on other tables but keeping an eye at the corner.

"The king and his royal guards, the best that the world of crime has to offer." The elf muttered to himself. "How pathetic, even by the standard of those bearded clumps." He walked to the bar, drawing a generously large pouch filled with gold coins, which he dropped in front of the keeper.

"You are closed for the day." The elf told him, and the keeper hesitated, before nodding and taking the pouch. The keeper was a dwarf, and he reached for a bell that he kept on a shelf behind the bar.

The elf began to walk towards the tightly knit group of dwarves, all wearing armor, as the bell began to ring. It was met with a loud protest from its inhabitants, but the keeper shouted. "My wife will kill me if I am not on time today, I am sure I can disappoint her for a month after this."

The elf stood near the group of dwarves quietly as the rest began to leave, and kept his eyes on one of the group, another dwarf who wielded a silver hammer and wore dark, plated armor. His beard was combed and long, tucked into his belt, as it was for most of the dwarves around him. As soon as he got up, seemingly to leave, the elf reached forward faster than lightning, and grabbed his shoulder.

"Stay, there is someone who wishes to meet you." The elf muttered to him, as there was hush all around them, and weapons were drawn. "We know who you are." The dwarf stared at the elf with a hard glare, then nodded at the others who had their axes pointed at the elf. They stepped back, but did not sheath or lower their weapons.

"And who is this person?" The dwarf asked, and the elf let go off him as he sat down.

"It is her." The elf turned towards the door of the now nearly empty pub. It was opened slowly, and in a single file, five elves, all hooded in the same black garment, entered. One of them walked forward, towards the dwarf, and smiled, her hood covering the rest of her face.

"You should know, elf, that this is my pub, and these are my guards." The dwarf said as she sat down in front of him, the only two sitting as their respective guards eyed each other suspiciously.

The elf replied in a voice which was soft and entrancing, but gave a menacing aura nonetheless. "And you should know, Vernùnd," The dwarf flinched at the sound of the name. "That more of my guards are hidden outside with their bows pointed at each one of yours. One suspicious move, they all die, and you are left at my mercy."

"Who are you?' The dwarf said simply.

The elf reached up slowly, and pulled down her hood. Almost every dwarf and human in the pub got a look of awe on their faces. They had never seen an elf before, but now they saw one in person, they were captivated by her beauty, and they all stared at her, their weapons useless in their sheaths. This elf was, even by the standards of the elder race, extremely beautiful. Her fair hair trailed down her back, as her blue, slanted eyes bore down on the dwarf before her, who seemed to not be affected by her features. Only her confident and arrogant smile unnerved him.

"I am Ithiria of the House of the Keepers, Lady of Nadindel." She said, and the dwarf gulped again. "And I have a proposition for you."

"First, how do you know about me?" The dwarf, Vernùnd asked.

The Lady's smile broadened as she placed her hands on the able, and kept her eyes locked with his. "You were the Grimstborith of Az Sweldn Rak Anhûin, and you tried to assassinate Eragon Shadeslayer, yes?"

Vernùnd stared at her. "That was many years ago."

"Eight years, to be precise, and, you were banished from your clan after all was revealed by the present king, Orik . . . You were forced to leave by the very dwarves who swore to you their allegiance, and hence you came here." She finished and leaned back on the chair, as he gazed at her, trepidation itching its way into his thoughts. "And here, you discovered the crime factions of your own people, and within months rose among their ranks, and now, eight years later, no crime takes place from here to Surda without your knowledge and a fee to your organization." She finished and nodded at him.

He stared hard at her for a while, then placed his hands on the table as well, and grinned slightly. The elf's eyes twitched ever so little in irritation, but otherwise she remained calm as Vernùnd began to speak as well. "You are the only council member who opposed the coronation of Arya Shadeslayer, and have opposed her in every regard and respect of her regime. You were not overly fond of her mother either, and you." He stopped then and his grin widened. "You were the reason Eragon and Arya were captured beneath Dras'leona, your courier delivered the warning to them. It was no mere coincidence." He finished and leaned back as well. "I have sources too, Lady. Oh, and yes, you tried to steal the green dragon egg for a candidate of your own, but unfortunately it hatched for the present Queen, Arya."

Lady Ithiria didn't reply immediately, as her guards looked uneasily at each other. "I am impressed, and I expected no less of you, with all your connections."

"Let's cut the conversation and proceed, why are you here?" Vernùnd asked her, his voice rough and a little curious.

Ithiria smiled again, a dazzling smile that distracted Vernùnd for a moment, but he shook himself back as she began. "I have a proposition for you, a way for the both us to get what we desire."

Vernùnd took a gulp from his mug, then placed it down as he spoke. "What do I desire?"

"Vengeance." She said, and smiled as a Vernùnd raised his eyebrows.

Vernùnd leaned forward then, "Oh yes, I do. You have my attention."

"This is a way for you to take your revenge for what the dwarven council did to you, while I take what is rightfully mine." Ithiria told him.

"What do you have in mind?" Vernùnd asked her.

"A clan war, Vernùnd, you can ruin the very group that ruined you, turn them against each other." Ithiria said. "And starting one will be your responsibility."

Vernùnd gazed up at the ceiling and was lost for a while as his mind worked out the possible ways, when Ithiria spoke again. "I hear King Orik is not in Tronjheim, but in Buragh; he shall leave three weeks hence, my sources tell me, and it will take them two days to reach Farthen Dur, does this give you inspiration?"

Vernùnd sneered, "Yes, it does and upon his return, he shall face his worst nightmare." Ithiria nodded in approval, as Vernùnd continued. "When he returns to Tronjheim, I shall be there, and I shall welcome him in my own way."

"The death of their king will throw the council into disarray, and then all you need to do is light a few fires." Ithiria said.

"And I know exactly what to do." Vernùnd said, and stared at her for a while. "But you did not come here to inspire me, did you? No." Vernùnd gazed into her eyes as his sneer widened. "You need me to put the dwarves into disarray when you make your move against your own Queen, do you not? Attack the dwarves and the elves at the same time, form a dominion of your own among the elves as you assist one of the leading parties in the dwarven war, and gain a puppet king on the throne of the dwarves, that is your plan." Vernùnd finished, and laughed as Ithiria continued to stare at him with the same smile. "You think I shall do this without getting anything in return?"

Ithiria stared at him. "So you have a price, just as everyone else . . . what will it be? Jewels? Treasures? Ancient-?"

"No, none of that, nothing materialistic." Vernùnd told her as he reached forward, grabbed his mug and emptied it. "No, as you said, vengeance. This is my chance to kill two birds with one stone."

Ithiria kept staring at him as he poured more ale into his mug. "I want the Rider." He said bluntly, and took another gulp. "I want you to capture him, and bring him to me." He smirked at his own words as the elves exchanged glances.

Ithiria didn't turn her gaze away from him as she thought for a moment, then said. "I shall have my agent working on it immediately. Expect Eragon by the time you finish the assassination of King Orik." She stood up then, as did Vernùnd.

"Well then, we have a deal." Vernùnd said, and gave her a small bow.

"Yes, we do." Ithiria replied. "And Alagaesia is the prize."

* WAYLON *

Leaves ruffled softly in the slight breeze of wings as birds flew past, alarmed by the approach of a squirrel bringing its treasured nut. A spring quietly trickled by, moving south where it joined the Ardwen Lake. It was extremely quiet, just as it always was in the forest of Ellesmera, far away from the elven cities. But even the silence could not mask the tiniest slivers of sound from a young elf who stood near the spring, his chest bare and bruised as he listened.

_Waylon . . . Waylon . . . Waylon! _He opened his eyes and scanned his surroundings, his arms raised.

_Waylon! _He turned around, just in time to catch a rock that would have bashed his shoulder. He gasped, dropped the rock, and rushed forward, sprinting, towards the source. The squirrel sped away as he approached the spot. There was no one there, so he tore past the bushes and leaves and stopped when he spotted a print on the forest floor. He looked around cautiously, then closed his eyes again, listening intently.

Soft footsteps taken slowly, quietly crunching leaves as the mark approached from behind.

_Waylon!_ He jumped to the left as a wooden stick smashed the ground. On his knees, he spun around, hitting nothing but bushes. He looked up, there was no one there. He gasped and stood up, and forced himself to empty his mind, calming himself and his thoughts. He turned his gaze to the ground and noticed several footprints that led around him, and went on ahead. He hurried forward, following the trail and stopped when he noticed they disappeared at the base of a tree.

His blood pumped as he dived away from the tree. A heartbeat later, another elf landed where he had just been, a wooden shaft in his hand. _Waylon, is this the best you can do? _

"Be silent!" He screamed, his patience running out and charged at the much older elf, who grinned at his rage. Waylon lunged at him, but the older elf just moved to the left, and knocked him off his feet. Waylon fell to the ground, grunting, then jumped back up staring at the elf, "This is the best I can do, Dwalior!" And he sprinted forward again, and as Dwalior swung the shaft, he skid to the ground, skirted past the elf, then spun around, knocking him to the ground.

Dwalior cursed as Waylon bashed his chest, grabbed him by the hem of his robes, and threw him onto a tree. He picked up the shaft, and swung it at the elf's head, but Dwalior rolled away. The shaft struck the tree and broke to splinters as Waylon blocked a blow from his opponent, and kicked him in the shin. Not stopping, Waylon punched him hard, grabbed his forehead and smashed his knee into it.

Dwalior gasped as he fell back to the ground, but got up immediately, his nose broken. "Very well . . . let us finish this!" Waylon sprinted forward, and dived, grabbing Dwalior by his waist as they both fell to the ground. But Dwalior kicked Waylon's chest, throwing him several feet back. Gasping, he got to his feet and made to charge again, but Dwalior raised his hand. _Stop!_

Waylon stopped then as Dwalior laughed, getting to his feet. "This was like fighting an equal, well done Waylon, well done."

Waylon then bent down, and gasped for breathe, his aching body now relaxing. It just made the pain worse, but Waylon laughed regardless, "We could have gone at it for hours, could we not?"

"Yes." Dwalior said, and stood in front of him. "And don't ever call me by my name, I am your teacher."

Waylon nodded in reply, then said, "Were you trying to make me angry?"

"Well yes, I wanted to see how far you could go." Dwalior answered. "Now come, let us return, and you should start healing yourself."

"Yes Ebrithil." Waylon said. They started on their way back to Dwalior's home, where he trained Waylon in the very skills that Dwalior specialized.

Silence endured between them as they trailed up the path. They lived in a small house on the outskirts of Nadindel, far enough to not receive many visitors from the cities, but close enough to be watched by the Lady's agents both day and night, although Waylon was not completely aware of it, Lady Ithiria had made it extremely clear that Dwalior would always be watched when she had handed the young elf over to him nearly twenty years ago.

"Waylon, who were the Justiciar?" Dwalior asked suddenly.

"They were an order of elven assassins created by King Holestrom nearly four hundred years ago." Waylon answered promptly, and Dwalior smiled. "Now am I skilled enough to be one of them?" He asked.

Dwalior grinned, "I suppose you are."

Waylon smiled, then decided to push his luck a little further. "Well then, I must ask. Am I ready to join my mother?"

Dwalior turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"I know what kind of a deal you have made with her." Waylon said, and looked around. "I know, guards watch us as we train, make sure neither of us disappear at night. Ebrithil, she needs me for something, am I ready to be a part of it?" He asked his master.

Dwalior didn't answer for a while, then said "How do you know about all this?"

"I have keen ears." Waylon said. "And my door isn't as thick as she thinks . . . I am old enough to know this."

Dwalior grabbed him by the shoulder and said, "You are ready, yes, but she is not and when she needs you, she will call for you, until then just keep improving what you already-"

Dwalior stopped talking as one of the Lady's agents, wearing a dark cloak with its hood pulled up, stepped walked up to them. He wore the same cloak as the rest of her guards. Dwalior stared at him, disgusted, Ithiria and her followers, all believed in elven supremacy. The agent nodded, "Dwalior."

Dwalior let go of Waylon and spoke to the elf, "What do you want?"

"The Lady just contacted us, she wants her son." He said, pointing at Waylon.

"Now?" Dwalior said, surprised.

"Yes, and she shall speak to you when you reach your home, but he comes with me." The agent said, holding out a tunic and the same dark cloak.

"Where are we going?" Waylon asked, accepting the clothes.

"You will see." The agent smiled.

* RA'ZAC *

It was nighttime, and the mountains of the Spine echoed the sound of hooves thrashing the ground as a horse galloped into the dark depths of unknown territory between Carvahall and Narda, the very path the villagers of Carvahall had used on their way to reach the shore side town. The horse's rider placed a frizzled hand on a case placed in a saddlebag, just to ensure it was still there. The Lady would not be pleased if it went missing.

It was after a few moments that he arrived at a location allocated to him by the Lady. He pulled at the reins, bringing the horse to a stop, and disembarked, searching.

"I am here." A hooded elf said, and the rider jumped around. "She sent you? Then this must be extremely important."

"Yesss, it isss." The rider, who was a Ra'zac, answered.

"Where is the other one of you?" The elf asked.

"In her egg." The Ra'zac answered, making the elf flinch slightly. There was silence between them after that, but it was broken when the soft sounds of a dozen footsteps reached them.

"They are coming, do you have the payment?" He asked the Ra'zac.

"In the sssaddle." The Ra'zac answered.

"Very well." The elf said as the group came closer. "Keep calm, and do not do anything suspicious, these are not the urgals you usually work with, and they most certainly don't know we are here to talk."

The Ra'zac turned to him in surprise, but before any of them could say anymore, a dozen Urgals arrived and surrounded them completely, all ready with their weapons drawn. The elf and the Ra'zac reached for their own, but one of the Urgals shouted. "You shall die before you can draw those."

"We wish to speak to your clan chief." The elf said.

"Why would you wish to speak to him?" The Urgal asked.

"Lady Ithiria has sent us." The elf answered.

"With what?" The Urgal said.

"A way for you to earn the respect of all the clans, and be feared by every Kull and Urgal throughout the Spine and beyond." The elf answered.

The Urgal stared at him, and lowered his weapon as did the rest of the Urgals, and they all bowed as the Ra'zac and elf turned to face a nine foot tall Kull, staring down at them. "And how shall I achieve this?"

The elf smiled. "You shall capture Firesword." There was a gasp from several Urgal, but the elf continued. "You shall be feared for your prowess, even Garzhvog shall bow down to you."

The Kull stared at him for a while. "And your Lady shall keep her word? How can you prove your honesty?"

The elf turned to the Ra'zac , who walked to the horse, and pulled out the case from the saddlebag. He placed it in front of the Urgal, and pulled it open. The Urgals gasped again as the chest was filled with gold coins, jewelry and other valuable trinkets. "Consider this a token of our faith, and we request the same from you." The elf said.

The Kull stared at the chest, then looked up. "My Urgals are yours, you only need to tell us when and where."

The elf smiled. "My Lady will be most pleased."


End file.
